


beating hearts and bleeding minds

by izadreamer



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Character Study, Drabble Collection, Gen, mostly mizael-centered fics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:20:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4628472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izadreamer/pseuds/izadreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Mizael centered fics.</p><p>1: Mizael remembers how he died.<br/>2: "At first Mizael thinks the old man is an illusion, a memory conjured into air by the longing in his heart and the poisonous guilt that eats away at his mind even now." Mizael finds Jinlong again, this time with all his memories intact.<br/>3: Post-zexal. Mizael doesn't act like a child. His new teachers take notice, much to his annoyance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for blood and death, and probably emotions.

He breathes in and the air tastes of ash and blood, the copper tang heavy on his tongue, the smog clogging his throat. The dead and dying litter the ground, blood soaking into the earth and pooling around them. A still, solemn silence hangs over the air, the absence of combat and violence leaving the world in suspense. He is _there_ , and yet also not—the blood doesn’t stain his shoes, the people do not notice him. Mizael is nothing more than a ghost left to view his own shattered memory.

Despite the carnage, he finds them easily. His hands shake as he approaches and yet, for all his earlier denial, he cannot recall the burning anger. The outrage. The disbelief. Instead, he is almost afraid. This memory is sacred to him. He has forgotten something and today he is remembering it, and Mizael has never wanted to forget as much as he does now.

The dragon is beautiful even in death. Pale scales and wide feathery wings, large familiar eyes thankfully closed. Jinlong could almost be asleep if not for the blood marring his ethereal form, if not for the way his chest lays still and the way his beautiful, crumpled wings lie awkwardly in the dust and blood.

Mizael cannot help but look away, chest burning. He feels as if he has just taken a hot poker to the heart, lungs constricting and eyes burning from the effort of holding back tears. The grief that overwhelms him is both familiar and strange: it is a new wound, a furious denial, and a heartbreaking betrayal all at once.

Mizael looks away, and finds himself. That dreaded human form dressed in white and gold, blood dribbling down his lips as he clings desperately to Jinlong, to life, to his own fading heartbeat. Blue eyes flickering, hate and sorrow in his heart. A scream building up in his throat, but Mizael knows he will die long before that cry can break free.

Mizael feels the burning in his chest again, but this time it is much more than just a mere emotion. He looks down and sees an arrow, cracking golden armor and piercing deep into his flesh. Another is buried in his leg, his lung, his shoulder. He coughs, and blood dribbles down his chin. His sword, clenched tight in his shaking fist, is also coated in blood, and the sight gives him a new wave of misery and hurt.

He is dressed in white and gold, blood dripping from his lips and life fading with every struggled breath, his beautiful, traitorous people strewn before him and his dragon torn away from him forever, and—

And he thinks, _Oh_.

_This is what it means to die._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2: "At first Mizael thinks the old man is an illusion, a memory conjured into air by the longing in his heart and the poisonous guilt that eats away at his mind even now."

At first Mizael thinks the old man is an illusion, a memory conjured into air by the longing in his heart and the poisonous guilt that eats away at his mind even now. He thinks it is yet another angry whisper come to life, a whisper of _you forgot him, you hurt him, you **forgot**_ brought into solid form.

Mizael pretends he doesn’t see the fake until he is right before him, and by then old man has seen him as well. Unlike the other illusions, this one does not fade, simply turn to Mizael and says, his voice full of wiry humor, “A thousand years and you still haven’t grown any taller.”

It’s then that Mizael realizes it isn’t an illusion. His heart seems to stop, his breath catches, and he stares until it hurts. Jinlong doesn’t fade away, just raises a ridiculous eyebrow and look up at him and Mizael is so overtaken by the urge to cry he couldn’t fight it even if he wanted too.

His bag slips from his shoulder and his legs give out from under him. Mizael crashes to the ground, knees stinging and palms scraped from the fall, his head bowed and eyes fixed on the floor, because no matter how hard he tries he cannot bring himself to meet Jinlong’s warm gaze.

“You’re alive?” he whispers, and then the tears come, dripping onto the concrete and sliding down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I—” he gasps for air, hurried apologies broken by his muffled sobs. “I never meant to, I never wanted to—I _hurt_ you, I forgot you, I—I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—” he chokes again, bringing his stinging hands close to his chest and curling over them, shaking from the force of his cries. Humiliation wars with his guilt, because this is _Jinlong_. This is dragon who saved Mizael’s life one-thousand-and-twenty-years-ago, who was his best friend and father and teacher all in one, who taught him how to cook and fought by his side, who died because Mizael was too weak, too late to save him.

He is Mizael’s closet companion, and Mizael has failed him in both lives. He has let him die and forgotten him, been consumed by betrayal and hatred, and hurt him because of it. And now Mizael is bowed over scraped and bloody palms, crying so hard his eyes are becoming swollen and his whole body is shaking with the force of it, nothing like the proud warrior he used to be.

Then again, he hasn’t been the warrior he used to be for a long time, and isn’t that the point?

A hand touches his shoulder, and Mizael shudders, curling tighter into himself. Jinlong’s words are a murmur, a sigh of breath. “Look at me, Mizael.”

Mizael shakes but does as asked, forcing up his head and willing his eyes to lift from the pavement. Jinlong’s eyes are dark and deep and bottomless, as warm as a hearth fire and so very inhuman. His eyes have always given him away. Jinlong can hide his true form all he likes, but eyes like that never belong in a human face.

“I’m—” Mizael starts again, but Jinlong does not let him finish, instead pulling him into a fierce embrace, strong wiry arms curling around him. Mizael feels seven years old all over again, only instead of a burned village, he is mourning the very person who gives him comfort now.

He takes a shuddering breath and then he hugs Jinlong back with all his might, breathing in the scent of smoke and pressing his teary face into cloth. He chokes back another sob, and grips him tighter, his emotions rushing through him like a raging river. His grief at Jinlong's death and his own guilt, and the absence that Jinlong’s presence had left—all of it swirls around him, clogging his throat and burning his eyes and sending his painfully human heart into a frenzy.

“I forgive you, you _stupid_ child,” Jinlong hisses in his ear, his words too low and too rumbling to belong to any human. “I never blamed you in the first place but I forgive you anyway, you foolish little boy.”

Mizael digs his fingers into Jinlong’s back and cries harder at his words, a thousand years’ worth of grief and pain finally able to be felt. They must make quite a sight, an old man with otherworldly eyes holding a crying teenager in the middle of the pathway at early morning, but Mizael finds he doesn’t care. Let them stare, let them judge him.

Mizael has the most important being in the world back by his side again, and he is finally, irrevocably, _whole_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I look at Mizael and think "wow he has a terrible life" and then I try to make it better in the worst possible way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-zexal. Mizael doesn't act like a child. His new teachers take notice, much to his annoyance.

The first week of going to a human school is a rather… enlightening one. Mizael is fairly certain he wouldn’t have made it through without giving someone a black eye if not for Durbe, and even then he still ends up punching Vector in the face.

There is something terribly galling about being treated like a child when he knows for a fact he is far older. It is worse to be stuck in a class full of _actual_ children, in a body ten years too young and with strangers trying to strike up conversation at every turn. It sets him on edge, fills him with a nervous energy and an eternal ire.

The second week is almost worst, if only for how it ends. Mizael is always the first to leave the class, but today the math teacher, Mr. Ukyo, who teaches middle scholars and high scholars alike, calls after him.

“Mizael, I have something to ask of you.”

He tries not to grit his teeth or curl his fingers as he approaches, less because of apprehension ( _Hah!_ ) and more because of annoyance. He despises the subtle commanding tone, the way the man looks down at him even while seated at his desk. Everything from his relaxed posture to his small, comforting smile suggests that Ukyo believes he is in control—and Mizael hates _that_ , too.

“Mizael,” Ukyo starts, voice warm and parental, fingers threaded and resting atop his desk. He is the picture of a caring and concerned teacher, and Mizael resists the urge to snap at him. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” Mizael says, and tries his hardest to keep his voice neutral. It is not the teacher’s fault that Astral has no concept of age or time. “Why?”

Ukyo presses his lips together, looking concerned. “I’ve noticed you don’t have a recorded last name,” he says, sounding hushed and soothing. “You are very mature for your age, Mizael, and you don’t seem to get along well with your classmates at all. You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I never had a last name,” Mizael snaps, for lack of anything better to say. He twitches at the look of pity in Ukyo’s eyes. The frustration from the last two weeks is building up, and his irritation is reaching its peak. He doesn’t need this man’s concern, or his help. Mizael is far older than this teacher, far older and far wiser even if he doesn’t always act it. He has fought a war and died because of it, and even if he is lost in this new modern day and age, he has never needed _pity_.

A soft knock at the door startles them out of the awkward silence, both turning to see the visitor. Nasch leans against the door, looking bored. He gives Mizael a careless wave, and Mizael awkwardly returns it. He still isn’t used to this new Nasch, clothed in leather and silver jewelry, who smiles more and acts nothing like the leader he truly is. It’s disconcerting, seeing him slouch against the door like a carefree punk student instead of the distant Emperor Mizael used to know.

“Mizael, we were wondering where you’d gone. Everyone’s waiting. What’s the holdup?”

Ukyo’s eyes flicker between them, frowning at the interruption. “Ryoga, come back another time. I’m sure Mizael can spare a few minutes to talk.”

Nasch scoffs. “How would you know? Besides, we’ll be late if we don’t hurry. You want us _both_ to walk back, in this weather?” He waves a hand at the window, gesturing to dark skies and rain-splattered glass.

Ukyo clears his throat, fiddling with his glasses. “I’m afraid Mizael and I have yet to finish. It won’t take long, I assure you.”

Nasch snorts, his derision plain to see. “Yeah, whatever. Mizael, you ready to go?”

Mizael wastes no time in picking up his pack and slinging it over his shoulder, walking to the door a little faster than usual. Anything to get away from this man’s irritating and unfounded concern. “Of course.”

“Good.” Nasch nods at Ukyo, face impassive but blue eyes glinting. “Sorry… sir, but we really have to go.”

Ukyo gapes at them, but before he can protest, both Nasch and Mizael have left. It feels a bit too much like running away for Mizael’s liking, but he’s too tired and too irritated to care.

He doesn’t thank Nasch, and he doubts the former Barian expects him too either. This wasn’t an act of kindness on Nasch’s part, merely an obligation. So long as the teachers and so-called adults of this world perceive them as children, so long as they are frightened by their surprising maturity, there will always be someone to bail Mizael out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I have a secret need for more Nasch and Mizael friendship? Because I do.


End file.
